Of Lovers and Liars
by Asuka Langley
Summary: The path of love is an arduous one, and only those who experience intense pain may come to know intense love. A story of passion, jealousy, secrets, and betrayal, set after the events of the book. [Colin&Mary, Dickon&Mary]
1. Prologue

_Of Lovers and Liars_

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. The names of characters are used for creative purposes only.

Prologue

Yorkshire, 1912 

"I shall be going away to London for University."

The evening breeze, which had drifted so comfortably through their idyllic garden, was suddenly a bit too chilly for her liking. She shivered a little, although it was uncertain whether it was due to the cold or his words. _Going away… _

"Have you heard a word I've said, Mary?" He had turned away from her so that she could not see the expression on his face. His broad shoulders, which had once upon a time appeared so frail to her, now only served as another barrier between the two of them. Not for the first time she wondered how their deeply cemented friendship had warped into this awkward farce of polite civility.

_Why are you leaving us again, _she wanted to yell. She wished he would turn around, wished there was some way to close the widening gap between them. She wished for anything but this. Instead, the only words that came out were "so when are you leaving?"

He barked out a bitter, mirthless laugh. "How eager you sound at the prospect of my departure." He paused, still refusing to face her. "On the morrow, if you must know."

"On the…" At his words, she rose abruptly from the swing, incredulity overcoming her initial shock. "Tomorrow?" She heard the blood pounding in her ears now. "_Tomorrow? _And for how long have you been keeping this from Dickon and I?" Her long-controlled temper flared to life. That, along with the frustration of having suffered months of his cool indifference. "Does your father even know? Look at me, Colin Craven!" She closed the distance between them in a few strides and grabbed his arm.

He finally turned, jerking himself free from her grasp. "Of course my father knows, but that is beside the point. Why should my departure make any difference to you?" Their gazes clashed, held. His flashed silver under the moonlight, and she was once again taken aback by its intensity. Lately, it had become increasingly difficult to hold that gaze. It made her uncomfortable in a way she could not explain. "After all," he added sardonically, "you have your beloved Dickon, isn't that right?"

She recoiled as if he had physically struck her. _Did he know, then? _His expression remained unreadable, yet he scrutinized her intently, waiting for her response.

"You are a fool," she bit out derisively, "if you believe we would really be complete here without you. Perhaps you have forgotten the significance of our friendship, along with this garden!"

"I have not forgotten," he answered gravely. "But people change. We are no longer the ten year-olds we used to be. And this place," he gestured to the garden, "is merely a shadow of our past, a faded letter that's been read one too many times. Am I wrong, Mary?" She saw then, the pain in his eyes, a pain he had tried to hide so well for nearly a year now, since his return from three years of boarding school. And despite her anger and hurt, she knew that she needed to attempt one last effort before he was lost to them for good.

"Oh Colin, but you _are _wrong." Putting aside her pride, she gingerly grasped his hand with both of hers and held it to her bosom. She ignored his inquiring stare as well as the strange pounding of her own heart. "The garden will always hold the same magic for all of us. It needs you, don't you see?" she exclaimed fervently, her small hands tightening around his bigger one. "_We _need you."

"And you?" He leaned in closer now, lowering his face to hers, as if deciphering the sincerity in her expression. The same intensity had returned to his eyes. "Do _you _need me, Mary?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

She held her breath. He was so close that she could feel the heat emanating from his body, smell the scent that was uniquely him. His unwavering stare unsettled her, making it difficult for her to form any coherent thought. Dickon, the man she had come to love, had never made her feel such discomfort before. With Dickon, she had only ever felt warmth, security, and an unwavering loyalty. Yet despite everything, she would always need Colin by her side no matter what, didn't she? "Yes," she answered almost hesitantly, "I need you most of all."

For a brief moment, a dark emotion passed over his face. Was it triumph? Satisfaction? She never had the chance to find out, for in the next instant, she was in his arms and his mouth was covering hers.

_Oh dear God, what is this?_ His lips were warm and smooth upon hers, molding her insistently to his unexpected ardor. Mary tried to push him away, yet her limbs had turned weak the moment their lips had touched. Her blood was roaring in her ears now. Her mind screamed that this was wrong, that they were cousins. And what about Dickon, the one she was in love with?

Her hands came up to push him away, yet they only succeeded in clutching onto his broad shoulders. He deepened the kiss, his mouth opening hers quickly, exploring her warmth with his tongue. When both of their tips touched briefly, she whimpered against his mouth, her belly clenching with an unfamiliar ache.

He suddenly tore his mouth away from hers, his breathing ragged and harsh. Staggering backward, he released her from his hold, yet continued to regard her with those tempestuous eyes. Save for the intermittent sounds of their uneven breathing, the night had become peculiarly silent.

With clarity finally seeping into her muddled senses, Mary was suddenly confronted with the enormity of what had transpired. Dickon, Uncle Archibald…what would they all think? "Oh God," she whispered in disbelief, "what have I done?"

"Mary," Colin began, reaching for her once more, "I'm so…"

"Don't!" she blurted out, recoiling from his touch. In her distress, she did not see the hurt that flitted across his features. All she knew was that she could not bear to be near him right now. She could not betray Dickon or herself a second time.

Without another thought, she turned on her heels and fled, away from the garden and away from Colin. Running as fast as her legs would allow, she prayed that he would not follow her. Not that he had done anything of the sort since before boarding school. She knew that he would undoubtedly be hurt by her actions, yet staying would only lead to further complications. She would speak with him the next day, she silently promised, when the memory of his lips no longer made her weak in the knees. When Dickon was there to make sure that a repeat of tonight would not occur. Only then would she convince him to stay, to try and mend their strained relationship, to forget these misguided feelings…

Little did she know that he would already be gone when she awoke the next day, and that it would be another two years before she saw him next.

Author's Note: Seeing that there are so few Colin/Mary stories on the web, I thought that they deserved their own tale. This fic will be multi-chaptered, and will span across several years, in which Colin and Mary's relationship will develop gradually. The prologue may appear a bit confusing, but it is intended for that purpose. As usual, suggestions and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 1

_Yorkshire, March 1914_

"It'd only be a minute more," Dickon declared, grunting as he tried to uproot the last of the wayward weeds. The late afternoon sun pressed down upon their enclosed garden, giving the spring day an illusion of summer. Several yards away, Mary watched him from underneath the shade of her favorite tree, pleasantly engrossed in his every movement.

"What's the hurry? I think I rather enjoy the view from here," she replied coyly, her eyes twinkling with wicked mischief. "Take an hour longer if you wish." Leaning back against the tree trunk, she silently admired the easy grace in which he carried himself, a quality that had never quite ceased to amaze her.

"Too late," he grinned, rising to his feet. His hands were sooty from the dirt and grass, his brow slightly damp with perspiration. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, unaware of the dark streak it left behind. "And all th' better. Now I can occupy myself with something more interesting." He gave her a playful wink.

"Such as?" Mary demanded, arching her brow questioningly. She watched in anticipation as he strode towards her, the sun glinting burnished copper off his auburn hair.

"Such as thee." He reached for her, lowering himself onto the grass and simultaneously pulling her into his arms. Laughing, Mary shifted in his embrace until she was comfortably straddling his lap. Procuring a white kerchief from her sleeve, she touched it to his forehead and began to wipe the dirt off his brow.

"Perhaps you should be more occupied with cleaning up a bit. How do you expect to woo a fair maiden while looking like this?" She pushed back a damp lock from his forehead affectionately.

"Simple," he murmured, encircling her delicate wrist with his fingers. Mary felt his arm tighten around her waist. "By givin' er th' one thing she wants th' most." His azure gaze danced with merriment.

"Oh really, now? And what, pray tell, might _that_ be?"

In answer, he merely leaned forward and captured her lips softly with his. Mary sighed in contentment, looping her arms around his neck. He tasted of sunlight intermixed with the cherries they had previously eaten, warm and sweet. It was always this way. His mouth explored hers languidly, leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world.

She wondered then, oh so briefly, what it would feel like to have Dickon kiss her in the midst of helpless passion, to have him feel a desire so immense it was beyond all control. She tamped down such treacherous thoughts, telling herself that she was the luckiest of women, that she should cherish these moments as they came. Soon enough, they would not have this luxury any longer for he would no longer be here...

Dickon slowly lifted his mouth from hers, regarding her with an inquiring gaze. "There now, what's th' matter?" He stroked her cheek tenderly with the rough pad of his thumb. "Why th' somber look all of a sudden?" But oh, if only he didn't possess this ability to read her like a book!

Mary hesitated. "It is just…" she averted her eyes, not wanting him to see the sudden doubt in them. "It is just that every time we are together these days, I am always reminded that you will be leaving…that you will be leaving _me_. I try my hardest to live in the present like you tell me to, yet how can I do so with that knowledge?" She stopped then, not trusting her voice to continue. Lately, since the news of Dickon's impending departure to join the Royal Navy, her emotions had become increasingly unstable, switching from optimism to dejection from one moment to the next.

"Oh, love," he began, but was at a loss for words. He pulled her into his arms instead, gently tucking her head under his chin. She inhaled the familiar scent of him, a combination of both nature and masculinity. It was another thing she would miss when he was gone. "Please stay," she begged for the umpteenth time, knowing that he would not.

"Tis for th' best," he tried to sound reassuring, but was in truth thoroughly undone. "Tha' knows I do this for thee…for us. For our future together. Th' moment I get an officer's position, I'll return to thee an' make tha' my wife, this I promise."

Mary cringed inwardly at his words, tormenting herself with the likelihood that he may _not_ make it back. "But you know I do not care about title and wealth! You could remain nameless for the rest of your days, and I would still marry you."

"I know, love. But what about thy uncle, an' th' rest o' society?" He tipped her chin back lightly so that she met his gaze, which was uncharacteristically somber. "Tha' would be utterly ruined, Mary. An' I'd rather die than t' see thy future destroyed in such a manner."

Her hearted plunged then. It was utterly hopeless. His mind was already made up. "Then we merely have a fortnight to be together." She told herself that she would not weep.

"Aye, that we do." His expression was deadly earnest now. "But I want tha' t' promise me one thing, Mary. Promise me that tha' ll be happy these next fourteen days, no matter what. Can tha' do this for me…for us?"

_How can you expect such a thing from me, _she wanted to scream. She felt like shouting at the unfairness of the world, of their society. Instead, she forced her lips to twist into her most genuine smile. Inside, her stomach twisted with dread. "Alright then…I promise, Dickon."

At her words, his eyes glimmered with both relief and gratitude. And as their lips met for the second time, a small treacherous voice repeated in her head over and over tauntingly:

_And now you have lost them both._

--'--,---'---,----

She needed to speak with her uncle, this much was certain. Her rapid footsteps resounded briskly under the hard oak floor, echoing across the long hallway. Mary had never asked him for more than a handful of things her entire life, but she would ask him for this. It was the least he could do for her. Reaching the door to his study, she pushed it open without bothering to knock.

She found Archibald sitting at his desk, head bent over a stack of parchments. He raised it in surprise at the sound of the opening door. A brief flicker of unease passed through his eyes at the sight of his niece. "What, still up at this ungodly hour, Mary?" Removing his spectacles, he gestured to the empty armchair across from him. "Come, sit down."

It felt strange to be in his study again, especially after the incident that had transpired there five months ago. Since then, a palpable tension had risen between the two of them. It still upset her to think about it, but she could not yet forgive her uncle for rejecting Dickon's proposal to marry her. She sat down stiffly.

"I wish to go to London in a fortnight," Mary said bluntly, evenly, her voice betraying none of her anxiety at the possibility of his refusal. She held his gaze steadily, as if daring him to say no.

There was a brief silence before he finally responded. "Why child, you know you may visit wherever you wish," he replied in a mild tone. "But why the sudden eagerness for London? I quite remember it was you who once said that it forever smelled of old fish."

If their relationship had been what it was before, she would have laughed at this last remark. Instead, she continued as if she had not heard him. "I wish to escort Dickon when he joins his unit in London. I believe it is the least I can do for him." _It is the least you can do for me_, she wanted to blurt out.

He was silent for a moment, rubbing his forehead tiredly with his hand. "You are still angry with me," he finally stated, his voice tinged with regret. "But I truly had no choice, Mary. I simply could not allow you to wed him without knowing that he had the means to provide for you." He smiled at her sorrowfully, his eyes pleading with silent apology. "Perhaps you will understand someday, when you have children of your own."

Those last words along with the sight of his weary countenance caused a sudden wave of guilt to assault her. However, she could not back down, not now. "Does this mean that I may go then?" She winced inwardly at the callousness of her own words.

"Of course you may," he answered with a sigh, "but I trust you and Dickon will be traveling separately?" Mary gave a perfunctory nod. "Very well then. I shall send word to my London townhouse and have the servants prepare a room for you." He paused for a moment, as if hesitating to speak his next words. "Colin will not be present, as he is currently in Vienna."

_Colin._ Mary's heart lurched at the sudden mention of his name. In her haste, she had nearly forgotten that he resided in London as well. A surge of unidentifiable emotions threatened to overwhelm her. She didn't know if she should have felt dismay or relief at the news. Perhaps both. Across the table, Archibald regarded her with a curious stare.

"I should go now," she finally answered, choosing to ignore that last comment. Rising hastily to her feet, she turned to the door, her heart continuing to beat in an erratic rhythm. In her agitated state, she did not see the expression of sadness that passed over her uncle's face. Then, as she made to open the door, Mary suddenly stopped, hesitating for a bit. She could not be hostile to him forever. After a brief pause, she turned around to face him again.

"Thank you, Uncle Archibald." It was the least _she _could do to bridge this ever-widening gap. Although he had done something that was nearly unforgivable in her eyes, Mary could never hate him. Without him, she would never have met the two most important men in her life. For that alone she was grateful. With a slight curve of her lips that resembled a hint of a smile, she finally opened the door and left, leaving behind a bewildered yet somewhat hopeful Archibald Craven.

--'--,---'---,----

As she hurried back to her room, Mary attempted to allay her own agitation. She told herself that she did not care if Colin was not in London. She told herself that it was better this way. After all, it was something she had come to expect from him since his hasty departure two long years ago.

With a brief flash of hurt, she remembered how she had written to him every week after the incident in the garden, imploring him to respond to her with the same warmth and affection they had previously shared. His responses had always been courteous and cool – indifferent even. She was not willing to admit it even now, but his actions had cut more deeply than anything ever could. And after four months of suffering the same treatment, Mary had considered giving up altogether. _If only she had listened to her instincts._

Thinking back now, she acknowledged with a pang of guilt that her current trip to London would not be the first time she would venture there for the sake of a man. In fact, it would be the second time. Her face flushed with shame at the memory.

The incident had occurred half a year after Colin's initial departure from home. At the time, both Dickon and Mary had been concerned over the welfare of their childhood friend. His infrequent correspondences and silent refusal to return to Misselthwaite gave cause for alarm. Yet unbeknownst to Dickon, Mary had been plagued by much more than mere worry. In some unacknowledged recess of her soul, she wanted to know, _needed _to know if the mutual passion they had shared in the garden was something more than just coincidence. In the end, she had rashly decided to pay Colin a visit in London.

The decision turned out to be a grave mistake. Somehow, Colin had caught wind of Mary's impending arrival even before her departure from Misselthwaite. When she had finally arrived at the London townhouse, she was coldly informed by the servants that Master Colin had already departed for France. Even now, she could still feel the hurt and embarrassment. She still recalled the frantic whisperings of the servants behind her back, of how the young master had left so swiftly after hearing news of Miss Mary's imminent arrival.

Mary had never fully gotten over that particular incident. The knowledge that he had actively avoided her was more than she could bear. It proved that he no longer cared about their friendship. What's more, it also proved that the kiss had meant less to him than it had to her. Otherwise he would have stayed, this much she was certain.

_It doesn't matter in any case, does it? It's Dickon whom you love, not Colin. _

Yes, it was always good, dependable Dickon who was always there for her, who never failed to make her feel warm and loved. It was also for the sake of Dickon that she was going to London this time. She needed to be brave for what was to come. For the sake of their future together.

And as she wrung open the door to her own bedroom, Mary reminded herself that she was _not_ disappointed that Colin would not be in town. This much she was _certain_.

--'--,---'---,----

Author's Note: Sorry for the long hiatus, real life catches up fast after one graduates from college. Anyhow, hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and sorry if I messed up on the Yorkshire accent – I was struggling a lot with it. As always, comments and suggestions are greatly welcomed. Till next time!


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